


Summer — 2010

by trash_bat



Series: Years and Years [4]
Category: British Actor RPF, British Comedy RPF, Nathan Barley (TV) RPF
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, Feelings, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Coital, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_bat/pseuds/trash_bat
Summary: Charlie has some news.





	Summer — 2010

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wreathed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/gifts).

> [Paradise Circus — Massive Attack ](https://youtu.be/jEgX64n3T7g)   
[Call Your Girlfriend — Robyn ](https://youtu.be/F6ImxY6hnfA)   
[On Melancholy Hill — Gorillaz](https://youtu.be/04mfKJWDSzI)   
[Glass of tap water, left on the nightstand. ](https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--Y6gG6BK0--/c_scale,f_auto,fl_progressive,q_80,w_800/jldmiajygrlchialw23j.jpg)   


_ Oh _ Chris says. His eyes blink closed for a brief moment, and when he opens them again his face is transformed into a weird unreadable blank. 

It’s probably his fault, now that he thinks about it. He could have picked a better time — a better means of communicating this information than blurting it out, lying face down in a puddle of his own drool, rashy carpet burn already rising up on on his stomach beneath his rucked-up t-shirt, Chris’s bare legs irrevocably tangled up with his sweaty ones. 

Chris pushes himself onto his elbows and looks off to the side. Charlie’s eyelid twitches. _ How exciting for you. It seems like congratulations are in order. _

_ Thanks _ Charlie says into his upper arm. He yawns, deeply enough that his ears pop. The initial rush has worn off and now he’s about ten seconds away from falling fast asleep. He wonders if Chris would mind if he did. He himself must have slept here on occasion, which means he probably has a blanket knocking about somewhere. A quick kip on the sofa, he decides, then a taxi home. Couldn’t stay here even if he wanted to; she’s meant to come round tomorrow. He needs to flip his sofa cushions over and disinfect the bathroom, get some posh nibbles in for them to share. 

_ Can’t bear the thought of a wedding, if I’m being honest. _It sounds horrible in every possible particular: the ceremony, the expense. But women want weddings, don’t they? Lavish dresses that look like meringues, bridal registries to set up house with. Honeymoons to far-flung, exotic places. He’ll have to remember to ask her. 

_ Go to the registry office _ comes a voice from behind, above him. _ Easier that way. _ Chris is already up and about. Knowing him he’s dressed already, presentable enough with only a tug on his cuffs and a hand combed through his disheveled hair. Even at his age, he's always alert right after. 

Charlie yawns again, a flicker of spit from deep in his throat making its way out to join the rest on the carpet. He shifts a few inches down away from the wet patch, folds his hands one atop the other and rests his cheek on this makeshift pillow. _ Give me a minute_, he wants to say, _ and I’ll get out of your way_. One sweaty minute to lie here with his eyes closed. Before all the aches in his body come raging back worse than ever. Before he has to struggle into his pants, pull his socks on, tie his shoes. Before he has to traipse down four wretched flights of stairs, locate a taxi, grit his teeth against the bumpy indignity of the ride back to his. 

He asks cautiously from his position on the floor _ that what you did? _

_ Pretty much _ Chris answers. He sounds clip, brisk. _ Look, Charlie, would you mind locking up? _

Charlie shifts onto his forearm, winces at the sharp pain in his abdomen. It never gets easier, never any less painful. 

_ What time is it? _he asks. Unlikely that he has it in him for another round. One good hard fuck can put him out of commission for weeks on end. Not, mind you, that he’s complaining. Merely making the observation. At this rate, he’ll be all set until the day itself, and after that; honestly, who knows if they’ll be able to find the time? The skin on his abdomen prickles as he tugs his shirt down to cover it, gropes blindy against the floor for his discarded jeans and in the pocket of those, his phone. 

Only half-eleven. Early still. There’s a goodnight text from her, signed with two kisses. She goes to bed at a reasonable hour and will already be fast asleep by now. Wakes up naturally, readily without setting six different alarms on her phone, a travel clock beside the pillow, and an old radio one kept in the furthest corner of the room. He’ll write back when he’s in the taxi. Bit rude to do that now and besides, it’s not like she’ll even see it ‘til the morning. 

He shakes his jeans until his wrinkled underpants fall out and gingerly lifts his up hips to slide them on. He pulls the waistband down a little lower than he would normally wear them to spare his poor stomach, and with a tremendous effort, pushes himself upright and heaves onto the sofa. 

Jeans back on he’s now trying to remember where he left his trainers when they, and his socks, appear right beneath his nose. 

_ Thanks_. He takes the shoes from Chris who, he sees, now he’s looking up at him, seems off somehow. _ You okay? _

_ Hm? _ he hums. _ Oh, absolutely fine. _ He touches the back of his own neck. Charlie realizes one of his socks is on inside out and yanks on the toe to take it off again. _ Just, you know, places to be. _

Charlie gives up on the sock. It can wait. He’s only got the cab ride home to worry about, and he’d rather not be left alone here. He hadn't expected for this part to be quite so rushed, but Chris is restless, he can tell. _Hang on, let’s walk out together_. 

_ Take your time _ Chris is saying right as Charlie meets him at the door. _ It’s not a problem. _

Charlie peers at Chris, who locks up behind them. They don’t speak as Charlie follows Chris down the steps and outside where a black cab is disgorging passengers and, miraculously for a Friday night in Soho, no one else has claimed it next. 

_ Guess I’ll grab that _ Charlie says, only now patting his pockets to make certain he hasn’t left his keys and wallet behind on Chris’s floor. The phone he has still clutched in his right hand. He waves at the taxi to indicate that he’s on his way but the driver keeps the light on, hedging his bets. 

_ Guess you should _ Chris replies, and there on the street holds out his hand for Charlie to shake. Charlie looks down at it in disbelief for a moment, before putting the phone in his jacket pocket, sticking his own hand out. It’s oddly formal, like they’ve just signed a corporate merger, raided pensions together. Chris coughs before speaking. _We’ll have to have you round — have you both round, that is — once things have settled. _

Charlie glances at the taxi. The driver raises his eyebrows as if to say _ I haven’t got all day here, mate. _

_ That’d be nice_. He sees two women turning the corner, hears the clack of their high heels against the pavement. The driver looks over his shoulder at the potential customers, back at Charlie expectantly. _ Guess I’ll get this? _

_ Good _ Chris says, distractedly, patting his own jacket pockets like he's looking for something _good. _In response to Charlie’s own goodbye he merely nods.

He only just gets to the cab before the women do. They grumble but he shrugs._Hey, I was here first._ Once safely ensconced in the private cocoon of the back seat, he flips open his phone to ask what she wants him to get in for tomorrow, to tell her good morning so it’s the first thing she'll see when she wakes up. 


End file.
